The Guild Massacre
by kataract52
Summary: In the Guilds, a child is no longer considered a child at thirteen. Now an adult, Honor must pass her initiation and reclaim her inheritance, but how well can she support two Guilds?
1. Chapter 1

**The Guild Massacre**

**Author's Notes: **This is a continuation of Honor Saga and Broken Chains: all stories about Honor LeBeau. As the legitimate child of a Thief and an Assassin – and the only living heir to both the LeBeau and Boudreaux clans – Honor is in the unique position to unite the Guilds like her ancestors tried but failed to do. But creating unity and keeping it are two different things.

**Chapter One: Lucky Number 13**

In spite of Mystique's not-so-secret hope, my little brother and sister were the spitting images of my father. Even with infant padding, they had his sharp and dark features. Ollie especially had his eyes: not the coloring, but the narrowness and intensity. Becca adored Papa. Her little face glowed at the sight of him, and she always stopped crying when he held her. But Rogue's silent prayer was answered: her children didn't _look_ like mutants.

I tried not to take offense, but _I_ looked like a mutant. I wasn't as obvious as my friend Uri – he was huge and green. I was just tall for my age, and I had my father's red and black eyes. (I would've liked to blame him for my inability to hold a tan, too, but that came from my mother.) Otherwise, I was rather normal looking: ten fingers, two breasts, strawberry blond hair, and regardless of my mutations, thought I was pretty.

I'd spent the summer touring with my godfather and his band, and it had been a blast… But I was glad to be home and with my family again. Even though my parents were divorced, they still lived together for my sake. My mutant abilities were extremely potent, and any instability could set it off. Rather than put me on zombie-making drugs, they learned to work as a team. Momma was still single, but Papa had re-married. His new wife, Rogue, recently had twins, and we needed a bigger place to live. So my father built a beautiful house in the country that was large enough for everyone. Unfortunately, it was _so_ spacious that we couldn't turn away Mystique, Rogue's mother, when she asked to move in with us. She said Rogue needed help, and the X-Men were eager to get her off _their_ hands. Papa didn't like it, but he'd made a lot of sacrifices lately. I felt like I hardly knew him anymore.

My friend's had also changed since I last saw them. Uri was the most dramatic: he'd lost twenty pounds and shot up another six inches, so he now stood at seven feet even. Nate devoured everything within reach. He seemed to be filling out a little bit more, but said he'd started working out. I couldn't be sure. Ethan cut his hair short and returned with a tan. He looked like a brand new man. I immediately ran my fingers over his soft black stubble and told him: "I'm gonna miss all your pretty hair!"

"I picked up surfing," he said, "Had to wash my hair twice a day to get all the salt water out. Trust me, 'On, you'd shave your head, too."

If my sweet Tess changed, I saw the progression so slowly that it escaped detection.

High school was a lot harder than I'd expected. Even though I had classes with my friends now, I didn't get to talk with them any more than usual. Not only were the students nasty, but the classes were hard. I dropped astronomy and started taking piano lessons on the weekends. Dr. McCoy arranged for me to practice with an old colleague of his, Mr. Bobert Anderson, who taught at Juilliard. Mr. Bobert was a short and stout man with hairy eye brows, coke-bottle glasses and a little bit of brown hair on his head. He wore the same outfit every time I saw him: pressed khaki pants and a brown flannel shirt.

The first time he listened to me play, he watched me with crossed arms and a lowered chin. When I finished, he said: "How old are you, Honor?"

I told him I was twelve.

"Twelve? Twelve… Well, there is potential. Tell me, how serious are you about making music?"

"Not at all, sir," I told him.

He dead panned and then laughed. "Well, you are just a child. How _serious_ can you be about anything?"

September arrived, and no one said anything about my birthday party. It wasn't completely beyond Papa to forget, but Momma never would. Was I too _old_ for birthday parties? Maybe it was going to be a surprise. As the day got closer, I picked up on the tension from my parents. They were hiding something from me. Reluctantly, I resumed my lessons with Mystique. Whatever her intentions, I _was_ learning how to access the river of knowledge within me. Sometimes I saw bloodlust in her eyes. She still hated me, and wanted to kill me. Was it love of Rogue, or the chip, that stilled her hand?

I hacked into my parents' minds. With Mystique's help, I learned that my thirteenth birthday meant I was an adult. As an adult, the Guild required certain things from me. I would no longer be accepted and cherished for my youth: I would have to _earn_ their protection and support.

I had to be initiated.

Of course, as an adult, I could have refused. No one is _forced_ to join. But that idea was completely alien to me. The Guild was my birthright. My legacy. I would be the best Assassin/Thief the Guilds had ever known!

My birthday that year fell on a Monday. I went to school and did my homework as usual. When I got home, Momma spent all day making my favorite meal, but then she didn't eat a bite. Papa chewed on his fingernails until they were bloody. (He wasn't allowed to smoke in the house anymore.) They were terrified, but they couldn't stop this. It was my decision now.

After dinner, I went upstairs and packed a bag.

Momma stood in the doorway. "Where are you goin', _petite_?"

"I don't know. How long d' you t'ink I should pack for?"

She watched me for a moment. Then she rushed to me and embraced me. "Oh, _ma tite fille_! What would I ever do if anyt'ing should happen t' you?"

"Momma, nothin's gonna happen t' me."

"Dis ain't nothin' t' take lightly," Papa said. I hadn't heard him enter. "My cous' died on his initiation. A girl died on mine. And it's a _requirement_ dat someone die on your Momma's. Don't do dis outta obligation, _chere_. You gotta be ready t' _die_ for dis."

A pale-silver Bentley Mulsanne with heavily tinted windows pulled into our unfinished driveway. The driver opened the back door, and Marie Therese and Franco stepped out. Franco looked older than I remembered, and now walked with a cane. His light brown hair was brushed with silver, and pulled back in a harsh pony-tail that accented the lines on his face. He wore a three-piece designer suit with leather shoes and a silk tie that I could only assume someone chose _for_ him.

Marie, on the other hand, looked as beautiful and comfortable as ever. Her inky hair had grown past her shoulders and spilled around her full bust. She'd spent the summer soaking in the sun, and her mocha skin had a deep, rich glow. She wouldn't confine that skin to noisy heels or useless skirts. _Non_. Her attire consisted of silent boots, flexible leather pants and a silk blouse. Although I couldn't tell where, I knew her had a knife on her body.

Momma, Papa and I walked off the porch. My parents fell behind but I continued to the vehicle.

"I brought some clothes and homework," I said, indicating my bag. "I hope dat's okay."

"You won't be able to contact anyone you know once we leave," Franco said harshly. "You need to tie up any loose ends."

I kissed Rogue and the twins good-bye. My parents held me so fiercely that I thought they'd never let me leave. But they did. Mystique irritably asked what the hell was going on; I didn't bother to tell her good-bye. I left a note for Tess with my father, and then took the back seat with Marie.

My parents told me I was braver, smarter and stronger than they were at my age. But would it be enough?

_Melbourne, Australia_

Stark Industries is the largest manufacturer of biotechnological warfare in the world. Headquartered in Melbourne, the company employs some ten thousand scientists, hundreds of thousands of interns, and an unknown number of government officials. Naturally, the company is on the cutting edge of security detail. Every genius, lone gunman and black ops organization that has hacked the world's best computer systems are employed by Stark Enterprise. Yes, _every_ one. Just to walk through the front door requires a back ground check, credit check and eye scan. That's the security clearance for janitors and school children on a field trip. To get within reach of their precious weapons, one must put in years with the company. One is subjected to constant surveillance: on and off the job. There are degrees to earn, tests to pass, and sacrifices to make.

Obviously, _infiltration_ was out of the question.

No one would endure so much for a job, and then risk it all for me. A nobody. A common thief. No one would help me make my escape, and then stay behind for a federal trial and prison. No, I was alone in this. My age and ignorance were my biggest disadvantages. I couldn't do anything about my age, but intell was my specialty. If the information existed in a mind or a computer, I could find it.

Franco and I stayed at a hotel in the city as "Frederick and Rita Sanchez". He could provide companionship, but offer no advice or assistance in my mission. I soon discovered that Franco did not like to discuss anything other than Guild business. Since that was the only thing we could _not_ discuss, we didn't talk much.

I spent the first day and night in deep meditation, trying to focus and discover.

To him, I appeared to be stalling. I learned that he'd chosen this mission for its difficulty. He _wanted_ me to fail. In order to keep the LeBeaus from returning to the Guild, he'd practically sealed my fate. This mission was time-consuming and required a team of well trained, experienced Thieves.

At first, I was resentful, but I later learned he did not want me to die in my attempt. For my mother, he would protect me. That was a kind gesture.

I learned that the Headquarters building was invincible. The security systems were even in place to prevent telepaths from mentally infiltrating. Lucky, I thought, that I'm not a telepath. The halls were blindingly bright, and no corner unmonitored. The temperature was kept at a chilly 62 degrees Fahrenheit: both for scientific and security purposes. The rooms were built with plexi-glass walls, and the elevator shafts had security locks and brakes. Whoever designed the Headquarters didn't mind turning the fortress into a prison. The architects had been deterring thieves since before my father was born, and they had funds exceeding most governments.

I had to face the facts. I was _not_ getting into that building without getting caught.

_Long Island, New York_

The sun receded into the west in a glorious blaze of oranges, pinks and yellows. Tony Stark tried to enjoy the view with his Cabernet Sauvignon. The heavy wine was not generally to his preference, but he needed a bitter drink to forget the bitter day. His life was currently the focal point of powerful people with long arms. These people could take things away from him; most importantly: his pride. Hence, he had agreed to this investigation. Of course, he was no fool. He had an investigation conducted beforehand, and all unscrupulous evidence was destroyed. Still, it was unnerving to be so exposed.

The glass door behind him slid open and shut again. A pair of heels approached, and a trusted woman took a seat across the balcony.

"Tony," said Pepper, "I need to tell you something that I know you don't want to hear."

"No you don't. You know why? Because it can't be proven. I don't care what they _think_ they've found; I know they can't prove it."

She smothered her laugh with an open smile. "Then let's keep it that way, shall we?" She handed him a heavy folder. Inside, he quickly skimmed over plane ticket duplicates, credit card receipts, blood tests, and handwritten police reports in French.

"What the hell is this? You couldn't sum it all up in a single, 12-point font page? I hear they do that for the President. How much does his staff make?"

"You wouldn't want this in writing," she countered. "Remember that Australian doctor we investigated last year?"

"Why would I remember that?"

"Victor Kurslow. Head of the biotechnological warfare division in Melbourne. He put one too many personal expenses on the business books."

"Now, why _wouldn't_ I remember that?"

"We settled out of court. He agreed to pay everything back and took six months' severance."

"That's why."

"Except with everything 'Stark' open to investigation, we've been keeping a close eye on everyone. Apparently, Kurslow wasn't charging the company for personal business trips. For the last three months, he's been purchasing 'test subjects' from Eastern Europe. These 'subjects' fly in coach, but never leave the country. Kurslow really _was_ using company funds for company advancement. But his methods are such a clear violation of medical ethics that he'd rather suffer the financial repercussions."

Tony went back to the police reports, which were in Russian. Combing through, he picked up a few key words.

_Child. _

_Promised work. _

_Melbourne._

_Vanished._

_No contact. _

_Disappeared. _

"Ready the jet, will you, dear? And pack your khakis."

"All ready done, sir."

No company really likes for the CEO to show up unannounced, but Tony Stark happens to be an especially intimidating man. He strolled right through the building's extensive security blockades. The receptionist couldn't dial offices before he arrived. He and his entourage of black suits shot directly to the third floor. With a quick flash of a badge, they began confiscating computers and log entries.

"What is the meaning of this?" Victor Kurslow huffed. He could only watch as his colleagues and students were pushed aside and interrupted like illegal laborers.

"Mr. Kurslow," Tony announced loudly, "Have a preference for underage children?"

"I beg your pardon!"

The man looked over a pair of ridiculously expensive sun glasses while smacking a piece of gum obnoxiously. "For work, I mean. You buy children from the European slave trade, and use them to test your theories. I've read some of them. Quite gruesome. I wouldn't want to be at your mercy. Or mine."

Kurslow allowed the investigation to continue into his house and personal life. He had no choice, really. The contract he signed with Stark Industries forfeited any privacy, but Kurslow had nothing to hide.

Or so he thought.

In his basement was a tiny door that he'd never been able to open. He assumed it once held to a wine cellar or to the insulation chambers, and was later nailed shut. He assumed decades of inactivity must've sealed it shut. He was wrong. Tony Stark managed to open the door, and found a filthy little girl crammed into a tiny cellar. She gasped and scrambled to get away, screaming in broken English. The moment she opened her eyes, it was clear she was a mutant. Now Kurslow was facing hate-crime charges in addition to slavery, kidnapping, embezzlement, fraud and torture.

"You're okay," Stark told her as Kurslow was arrested.

"I've never seen that girl before in my life!" He shouted vainly as he was drug away. "I've been set up! I've done nothing wrong!"

"It's all right," Stark told the girl.

Finally, she seemed to understand. She collapsed into his arms, crying and rambling in fluent French.

"You're okay, honey… You're okay."

What to do with the girl?

First, she was hospitalized. An examination revealed evidence of extensive abuse: burn scars, sexual trauma, and a particularly nasty scar across the lower neck. The doctor believed the neck injury was self-inflicted. What kind of horror did a girk have to endure before resulting to such extremes? Despite her appearance, the doctor believed she was barely a teenager. He saw evidence of scientific experiments: artificial aging and cranial surgical scars.

What had Kurslow _done_ to her?

She kept saying the same thing over and over: Her name was Nina. Here on vacation with uncle. A translator was brought in and identified her accent as a _Nice_ dialect. The woman told her she was safe, and the authorities would reunite her with her family. But they needed a name, a city… anything.

"My name ess Nina. 'Ere on vacation with _oncle_."

The social worker said maybe the girl had no family. Or maybe she was too frightened to speak openly. Whatever the case, there were few options on moving forward. Most likely, the girl would be institutionalized and rehabilitated.

"Institutionalized?" Pepper was aghast. "Tony, no! We can't let that happen!"

"I knew this would happen," he waged a finger at her. "I told you we were just coming to _look_ at the puppies, and now you want to bring one home."

"Think about it," she snapped. "This girl finally starts talking, her foster parents see a quick buck, and they run to the media. The story's going to be all over the place, and everyone's going to want to know why you covered it up!"

"Might end up that way anyway if the police find any bodies on Kurslow's property."

"Tony, look at her! Kurslow was on _your_ payroll. This happened on _your_ watch. You don't feel the slightest bit responsible?"

"Should I?"

"Tony!"

"Look, I don't care how long you stand there with your hand on your hip, shouting my name. She's _not_ my responsibility."

Thanks to Pepper's bleeding heart, I went home with Tony Stark. I couldn't help but be impressed by his Australian house. It was so modern. So sleek.

Pepper gave me a tour of the hallways, kitchen, and bathrooms. She said my room would be adjacent to hers, and I could wake her for anything. She offered me her food, her services, her undivided loyalty and devotion.

I almost felt guilty for exploiting her.

Guilt is a strange thing. I've heard most people feel a strong association between guilt and love. When most people love something, they find it difficult to disappoint or hurt that object of affection without experiencing guilt. I don't. I was able to be completely sincere with Ms. Potts: I showed gratitude, admiration and adoration. All the while, I knew I would betray her. That betrayal would be ruthless and direct. But the two conflicting emotions never diminished the power of the other.

Does that make me a pathological liar?

The very next morning, Pepper busied herself with planning Mr. Stark's day while I helped myself to toast and orange juice. She asked me if I would be comfortable talking about my experiences with Kurslow.

"_Oncle_?" I said stupidly.

"What did he do to you?" She asked in French.

I grabbed her breasts.

"Holy smokes!" Mr. Stark shouted, "We've got a live one!" He confined my wrists while poor Ms. Potts tried to recompose herself. Then he said in French (actually, in the correct dialect, too): _"We know men have touched you… Don't care. What I want to know is what they did to you scientifically. Understand?"_

I nodded. _"I can show you. Take me to his lab."_

I couldn't really call the mission _easy_, but once I got inside the laboratory, I was dizzy with relief. I couldn't believe my own good luck! It had worked! It _really_ worked!

Once inside the headquarters, it was just a matter of using my precognitive abilities to locate the blueprints I was after. The papers weren't far from Kurslow's lab, but I knew Mr. Stark wouldn't let me out of his sight. Not for an instant. I wandered the halls, pretending to recall the experiments. I told them some non-sense about hearing other girls but never seeing them; about mystery injections and electric therapy. Whenever I needed inspiration, I just thought of Sinister's insane experiments.

I also said Kurslow would take me into an office and force me to perform oral sex, but I couldn't quite remember which one… They let me walk right into the room containing the blueprints. I watched a team collect "DNA samples" from underneath a desk, but I was never out of Mr. Stark's eye sight. I could feel the camera on me. Mr. Stark watched me like a hunting falcon. The security guards in the hallway saw me.

But time was running out.

Moment of truth.

Weaponless, and without a back-up plan or escape route, I grabbed the disk from shelf and slid it down my pants. I did it in broad view of dozens of people.

I couldn't _believe_ my luck!

No one saw it happen, but I knew time was quickly turning against me. I had virtually no time in which to escape the building before someone noticed the disk missing. My actions were plainly recorded. Before Mr. Stark saw that footage, I needed to be out of the country. But before I could leave the building, I needed to ditch the evidence. A "nervous break-down" encouraged Ms. Potts to take me into the restroom. While she wet a towel for my face, I dropped the disk in a pre-labeled envelope addressed to a PO Box in New Orleans. Then I more carefully concealed the package behind my belt, and re-arranged my clothes.

I dropped the envelope in a mail cart in the hallway.

Outside the building, I was escorted to a different car from Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts. My hands left wet prints on the leather interior. I inquired in French to our destination. The driver didn't understand me, but answered: "Mr. Stark's returning to the States. We're going downtown. They're going to find a home for you. Understand? Home."

I rode for a few miles, noting the streets and subway entrances. Then at the busy intersection, I bailed from the car and ran like mad to the train.

_Hong Kong, China_

The Mid-Autumn Festival was like a weeklong _Mardi Gras_. Never in my _life_ had I seen so many people celebrate so enthusiastically! How had the Chinese obtained a reputation as uptight, miserable sheeple? It made me wonder if they were not wrong in their opinion of American propaganda. Unfortunately, I wasn't there to celebrate. I had a job to do. Compared to my Thieves initiation, this mission was a cake walk. Marie provided me with a name, picture, location, weapon, and plan. Was she helping me too much? Or had Franco been too harsh? Maybe killing was just easier than stealing.

My target was the wife of a wealthy business man. The wife herself had no hobbies or responsibilities worth mentioning. Mostly, she was a pretty face to keep the house clean and the newspapers interested.

Why would anyone want to kill her?

An Assassin _never_ asks such questions. Acceptable questions are: Who? Where? When? How much? But 'why?' is strictly off-limits.

Still, I wanted to know.

I watched her get ready for the nighttime celebration. She brushed her teeth, carefully chose her outfit, decorated her ears and neck with heavy jewelry, and spent forty-five minutes on her hair. When it came time to paint her face, she was an artist. Her sweet lips were the deepest red. Her eye brows were as slender as a waning moon. Her dark brown eyes bore into the looking glass, and I saw her watching me. Suddenly, we were one, and I could not avoid the truth. Her husband had a mistress. He wanted a divorce, but could not afford to dispose of his wife. She would leave him with nothing, and without his fortune, the mistress would be gone, too. The wife had considered choking the man on his own wedding ring. She should have given into her impulse. A life in prison was still a _life_.

I watched her get into the vehicle with him. From my binoculars, I saw the car fade into the city. I followed the pair to the party, where the assassination was to take place.

The man needed plenty of witnesses to verify that he had not murdered his wife. He wanted the impression that the attempt had been on _his_ life. After all, many people wanted _him_ dead. Only two people in the world wanted his _wife_ dead, and only _one_ person had the means to hire a hitman.

With live rockets popping in the streets, a gunshot would be easily concealed. But I hesitated. I watched them through my scope for a long time. This unknown man and his unloved wife. I could've killed _him_. Did I really want to? Did I really want to burden this woman with a dead spouse? Or did I just want to kill a _man_? I hated all men. I hated Franco and Sinister and Nate and Mr. Summers and Professor Xavier and sometimes even my father. Given the chance, I would kill _six_ men before _one_ woman.

I don't know why I decided to dedicate myself to that random thought. A sniper's mantra is 'One shot, one kill'. I should have done my job, collected my pay and gone home. But I guess I've never been very obedient. I shot the husband, his two body guards, the driver, the P.R. photographer and an unlucky party dancer. While the crowd morphed into a panicked mob, I reloaded and found my target crouched over her husband's body. I took the shot.

Pandemonium reigned in the streets.

Luckily, I was several blocks away. The extra time allowed me to dispose of the weapon, change my clothes and disappear into the crowd. At five foot six, I was taller than most of the men. Blonde hair and blood-and-black eyes didn't help me blend in with the Asian majority. Not only was I visible, but I was also a foreigner and a mutant.

I heard the police shouting at me. Then the whistles blew, and alarms followed. My feet moved as quickly as they could. Black combat boots pounded the smooth city sidewalks: crushing paper lanterns, fallen flowers and unfortunate bystanders. I moved blindly into the historic district, where the sidewalks were not so smooth.

Fantastic! Now I was a _lost_ foreigner who couldn't speak _or_ read the language!

The little Chinese policemen in crisp brown uniforms were close on my tail. No matter how fast I moved, they multiplied faster. I had to shake them. _Fast_.

I made a quick turn in between two run-down buildings. The alley dead-ended with an eight-foot high cement wall. While my pursuers funneled into the narrow entrance, I leapt and kicked off one building to the other. Launching from the second wall, I had enough height to clear the wall. I landed blindly on the broken pavement on the other side of the wall.

_Snap!_

"_Merde_!" I wept for my broken ankle. What rotten luck!

Limping out the other alley, I leaned against the building and looked around helplessly. Those bastards would be over the wall any second. Running was no longer an option.

I felt a pair of eyes on me. To my left, I saw a man sitting alone in the dark. He was so comfortable in his environment that at first, my mind said he was Chinese. Unkempt silver hair fell over his eyes, casting a shadow over his face. He was so still that he completely vanished, even in plain view. If his eyes hadn't born into me, I don't think I would have ever seen him. But as our eyes met, I saw into his soul. The white man sat on a little stool, his elbows resting on a large wooden crate. Between his yellowed teeth he held an authentic opium pipe, and smoke slipped around him like little blue-silver snakes.

"Please," I groaned, "Help me."

I didn't even know if he understood.

After a moment's hesitation, he lifted his little wooden crate. I quickly crawled across the street and pulled myself under the box. I was _sure_ the police saw my feet slide away. There were voices, shouting, and then the pounding of feet. I clamped my mouth with both hands, trying to quiet my labored breathing. I was so sure that my little haven would be kicked over at any moment. The man would turn me in. The police _couldn't_ be so stupid!

Silence.

"It'll be safe t' come out now."

The box was surprisingly heavy from the bottom, but I managed to push it over. Wood loudly slapped the broken street, sending dust and ashes away from the landing site. I sat still for a moment and watched the man. He smoked steadily from his hookah, unconcerned for my well-being. His clothes were dingy and too large for his withered frame.

I tried to get a read on him. Just like Mystique, this man gave away nothing. Was he the sort to beg, threaten or… proposition?

"Proposition, yes," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "But not in de way you think."

A telepath!

I scrambled to back away, and then crawled to a building which I leaned on for support as I hobbled away. This man gave me the willies. I did not want to get involved in him – even if he _would_ help me.

"Where will you be goin' on that foot?"

Suddenly, he was behind me, although I hadn't _heard_ him move. He lifted me with supernatural strength and threw me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

Jean-Luc?

No, it couldn't be. Jean-Luc had a tendency to show up at one's weakest moments, but this man didn't smell or move or sound like Jean-Luc. My grandfather had a very strong and powerful presence. This man had a ghostly presence. His very existence was like the smoke he blew away: here for a moment, and then invisible.

"I'd be a friend," he said, "That'd be all you need to know."

I decided not to fight him until I was sure I had an opening and escape.

He took me into a shanty without light and clumsily laid me on a mattress. The third-world house smelled like a rat cage and opium. My host/abductor moved across the room and struck a match. A moment later, he lit the room/house with a single Chinese lantern. I took the opportunity to examine my surroundings. The floor was compacted dirt, and the mattress was the only piece of furniture. However, the little shanty was crammed full of things I couldn't identify. Large objects made of steel and metal were hidden by this unassuming residence. Whatever those things were, they were more durable than the walls. I knew if things got too hairy, I would have no trouble at all blasting away the entire building. The walls were weak aluminum, held together by rusted bolts. In lieu of a front door, the occupant hung up a bed sheet. It must've been the only luxury item in the whole neighborhood. My cot didn't even have sheets or a pillow.

Meanwhile, my host/abductor gathered some supplies and mumbled to himself: "Come half way across the world to bandage up some lost kitten. Ridiculous! Suppose to be my vacation! 'Spend a little time in de twenty-first century', she said. 'Things are so _simple_ then.' _Ha!_" He turned to me and said, "I should pay someone to do this for me. I'm no doctor, you know, but I employ many. I'm a very important person."

Then he stormed out, and I wondered if he really was looking for a doctor. A moment later, he returned with the hookah. He said nothing, but held out one of the hoses.

I merely looked at him.

"Don't play innocent with me," he said irritably. "Take the damn thing. I didn't comfort you through de pain, so just take a hit."

I took the ornate hose and wiped the mouthpiece with my jacket. Then I took a deep breath of the substance. I exhaled slowly and took another puff. My head felt light. My whole body felt wonderful. I fell back on the cot, a smile on my lips and not a worry in my head. He loosened my boot as much as possible before removing it. I felt the back tap against my heel. He peeled away my sock. Then he put on each palm on my broken ankle and pressed it back into place. I heard a crunching sound, followed by an acute pain. I tried to jerk away from him, but he easily pulled me back and began bandaging my foot.

"I told myself I wouldn't come," he rambled on. "You've been dead longer than you've been alive. Best to leave dead things buried. I never did like graveyards, but here I am. Always was a masochist. You look just like her, you know. My eldest. I had many, but she was de first."

My powers took control of my voice. I heard myself responding without understanding.

"Where are they now?"

"My babies all died in de war. All but one and he hates me. Just as well. I'll hate my father, too; it's just the way of de world. He was like God on this throne: always shouting down orders and pulling the strings. Never mind how I helped him. I'll always be overlooked. But I got his attention…. Do you know why God kills his son? It wasn't for the love of de world. No. He was afraid Jesus would surpass him in power and greatness. Had to take him down a notch. But I'm no martyr. I knocked that old geyser off his throne. He had no business out living his children, anyway."

"What about you?" I asked, again ignorant of my motivation. Maybe it was the opium speaking. "You outlived your children."

"Not yet, but I will. Man's got no business in it."

"_Homme_…" My head lolled side to side. "You're not makin' any sense."

"You'd be an _idiot_ to trust me," he said. "I'll be born under the unluckiest of stars. You'll never phantom the things I'll see. And I'll tell myself that won't matter. All that'll matter is de dream… De dream. What will happen when I _outlive_ the dream?"

Suddenly, I was flooded with emotions and alien thoughts. However this man had blocked me out, he had now lowered those defenses. His life and spirit were unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The mere presence of him blared in my head like white noise. I felt bile rise in my chest. My eyes wept unexplainably.

_I __**hate**__ you! You broke her heart, and you don't even __**care**__!_

_He didn't mean it, Pop. He's just…_

_I'll ask you one more time, old man… Who killed the X-Men?_

_A real kiss, damn you. One… last… time…_

_I'm sorry I'm not __**her**__, okay? You should've __**known**__ that when we got together! You can walk out on me, but __**he**__ is your son! Your __**son**__, you sorry son of a-_

Then it all ended abruptly.

He pulled me into his arms and held me fiercely. Just as fiercely as my father had held me the last time I'd seen him. This man pressed his face into my hair and inhaled deeply. His strong hands clamped my tender limbs almost to the breaking point.

"_Are you real_?" He whispered.

I pushed him away, my skin cold and crawling. I grabbed my boot and a walking stick that had been waiting for me in the doorway. I hobbled away as quickly as I could.

This time, he didn't follow.

**Author's Notes: **Yes, the creepy old guy in China is Witness. In his thoughts, the first line is Ollie; the second is Becca; the third is Bishop; the fourth is Rogue (from 'The End'); and the final one is still undetermined. Since Witness is Gambit from a very distant, dystopian future, I thought it'd be fun to have him switch his tenses… For example, he talks about the past like it's the future and vise versa. I don't usually enjoy time-traveler stories, and this is probably the closest I'll ever come to writing one. But I did enjoy creating the time paradox. Witness is great in small bits. Once you try building a plot around him, the foundation starts to crumble. So Honor will most likely never see him again.

As for Tony Stark, I based that entirely off the movies. Sorry, I don't know anything about the comics. When I found out Honor would be stealing from him, I did some quick investigational work, and put together the background. But as far as his personality? Yeah, that's all Robert Downey Jr. If anyone's a big Iron Man fan, I apologize.


	2. While I Breathe

**The Guild Massacre**

**Chapter Two: While I Breathe**

At the airport, Marie only made one phone call. She stopped at a payphone and used an international card to call New Orleans. "Tell Momma the eggs are safe" was all she said into the phone. She quickly dropped the device back into its cradle, and threw an arm around my shoulders.

"Ready t' go home, Rita?" she smiled.

We passed through the terminal as "Mercedes and Rita Sanchez" without incident. Due to my broken ankle, she had to carry my bags. I never did see Franco – thank goodness. I wasn't ready to face him yet. His very presence would whittle away at my resolve. Eighteen hours and two layovers later, we finally arrived in New Orleans. The airport here was considerably smaller and less impressive than Hong Kong or Melbourne, but Louisiana's dinky terminals had something the big cities didn't: my family.

As soon as I saw the end of the hall, I saw Momma. She ran right past security and hugged me. Hugging her back was awkward with my crutches, which she fussed over endlessly. Papa and Rogue welcomed Marie and me with smiles and hugs. The twins were passed out in a bulky double stroller. My baby siblings were curled together like a couple of kittens, their brows moist from each other's body heat. I risked kissing them, and they stirred slightly.

I had a surprise guest, too.

Jean-Luc.

"_Mon Dieu_, how you've grown!" He gushed. Perhaps another grandfather might've embraced me, but that wasn't Jean-Luc's style. He would slaughter a room full of assassins with his bare hands to protect his family, but he wouldn't _say_ he loved us.

"What are you doin' here?" I asked him.

"Surely you jest! I wouldn't miss this for de world! Years of work have finally come to a head. This is a glorious day. Glorious! Ah, I'm gettin' carried away."

He turned to the woman behind him. She was middle-aged and even-tempered. The glint in her hazel eyes and the Mona Lisa smile on her full lips were as soothing as a bed-side prayer. She wore her hair and clothes in the most unassuming manners, and stood with her hands together like a well-trained child. Her vibe was so soothing and lovely. So _unlike_ Jean-Luc. I knew she was a good match for him.

"This is my wife, Marguerite. She doesn't speak any English. _Cherie, ceci est mon petite-fille, Honor. Elle parle de meilleur Francais que son pere._"

Marguerite and I smiled politely and kissed cheeks.

"Thanks for leavin' the mother-in-law at home," I told Papa while he helped me load my bags into the truck.

He smiled and hugged me with one arm. "You're tellin' me! I barely made it with just Rogue and de twins. She's gone off her rocker, I t'ink."

Momma shoved her elbow into his ribs and whispered to me: "Rogue's got de baby blues. Just be gentle around her."

Rogue cried when she couldn't get one of the car seats to buckle properly, and Papa rushed off to the rescue.

"Your godparents are sorry dey couldn't be here," Momma said, opting to ride with me in Jean-Luc's car. "Johnny's workin' on another album and 'Ro's deployed again. Africa, I t'ink."

"Just as well," I said seriously. "This is Guild business."

Guild initiations are a bit like Bat Mitzvahs. It's a huge celebration where everyone who had ever heard of the newcomer attends. There is a slight ritual involved, but mostly it's just a party. The more powerful the child's parents, the bigger the party and the more expensive the gifts. An outsider might've mistaken my initiation for a wedding. Every branch, stick and twig of my families came to my mother's ancestral house for my initiation. We had not had this many visitors since the Antiquary attempted to abduct me. In addition to Guild members, I had invited my friends from New York. Tess, Nate, Uri and Ethan all tried to adapt to their new surroundings as best as they could.

Meanwhile, I sat alone in my room. My stomach turned and boiled.

My mother fetched me in time for my own ceremony. I could barely remember the words spoken and repeated. The faces blurred together, time evaporated. My mind was a million miles away.

This was truly a first: a member of both the Assassins and Thieves Guilds. I knew the Guilds' histories stretching back to their establishment, and I knew better than most that no one had ever done this. After my father's brother died, the Thieves wondered if I would be their first matriarch. It was a badly kept secret that the Thieves use to work their women as prostitutes. My Tante Mercy was the first one to break that mold. She became a Thief, and was as good as any man. All of their leaders thus far had been men, but the Thieves were ready to prove they were progressive. Those loyal to Jean-Luc were ready to welcome me as their matriarch. In five years.

I was not so patient.

The ink on the paper was barely dry when I requested an audience with Franco and Marie.

Tess wordlessly cut through a stunned-silent mass. She followed as the three of us exited into an isolated room. The adjacent room was generally used for emergency meetings between key Guild members. This was the room where my grandparents worked out marriage negotiations for my parents. This was the room where my mother was elected matriarch.

Now, this would be the room where the coup was staged.

Marie and Franco took their symbolic seats at the heads of the elongated table. I stood between them, defiantly refusing to settle for a secondary position.

"I will be frank," I said boldly. To my credit, I sounded confident. "I will claim my birthright tonight. You two have enjoyed my regency long enough, but now I'm taking it back. Marie, do I have your support?"

"Of course! I support you wit' my dyin' breath!"

"Franco?"

"De Guilds are a democracy! You can't just sweep in here and decide t' change dat! I must be _voted_ out, and you must be _elected_ in!"

"It wasn't a democracy under my grandparents."

"_Oui_, dat's right. Marius once said: 'While I breathe, I rule'. If _dat's_ de era you wanna revive, expect to fight against those just as ruthless."

"I can _take_ your breath!" Marie stood with her hand to her sword hilt.

"Dat won't be necessary," I said calmly. "I had planned for dis."

She sat down tensely.

"You set me up, Franco," I said bitterly. "You gave me an assignment that even _you_ couldn't complete. Den you made off wit' de reward. _My_ reward. The only reason I succeeded was because of my mutant powers, which you know nothing about. De Thieves Guild protested such an extreme test, didn't they? But you were determined to watch me fry. _You_ should've been prepared to fight those just as ruthless. You think you've won? Your prize is safely back in Australia right now. That disc you have is a copy. An encrypted copy, actually, that will deteriorate in three days. Do you think you can crack it by then?"

"I'll give you a hint," Tessa said, "It's a combination of thirteen different languages, including one I invented myself. I'd wager only a few people in the world can solve it in time, and Mr. Stark can them pay better than _you_ can."

"What's gonna happen," I asked him, "When you have to go back to de client and tell him you were out-foxed by a little girl? Twice. What d' you think de _Guilds_ are gonna do? Concede to me and spare your pride."

He was silent for a long time.

The living room began to whisper again when the little room opened and the occupants re-appeared.

I was well-aware of all the eyes on me. The Guilds weren't stupid or uninformed. I realized then how much we were like a family. Everyone knew everyone's business. Everyone had been watching for years while Jean-Luc and my mother moved us around like pawn pieces: buying loyalty here and favors there. It had all been for this very moment.

"Heil, Honor!" Marie called loudly, "Matriarch of de Assassins Guild!"

"H-heil, Honor," Franco echoed, "Matriarch of de T'ieves Guild."

At last, my destiny was fulfilled. How many people _ever_ recognize their purpose? And I was still just a child. For the first time in my life, all the dead ends and missteps seemed to serve a purpose. All the questions and unanswered prayers, all the lessons and losses – everything made sense. I was exactly where I was always meant to be.

My life became completely immersed in Guild business. From dawn until the dead of night, I had to determine who was loyal to me and who stood in opposition. Those opposed to me had to be bought, coaxed or bullied, and then watched carefully. I had to determine what to do with the Council. Each Guild employs a Council of Advisors: typically the twelve closest in line to the crown. I didn't dare start dismantling the Council so early into my tenor. But twenty-four advisors? We'd never get _anything_ accomplished! The Council wanted to keep only twelve members, but no one was willing to give up their position. I could've fired the bottom twelve, but in doing so would make enemies with half the Guilds.

Then, of course, there was the matter of secrecy. The Guilds were threatened by the possibility of a centuries-old foe being privy to their inner workings. This matter could've been resolved by a unification of the Guilds: something my parents strongly supported. The Guilds were united in _name_ by my coronation, but Thieves were still Thieves and Assassins were still Assassins. I couldn't erase generations of training and prejudice. How would I even begin? Would we start training our youngsters how to steal _and_ kill? We would become too powerful. The lines had been divided for a reason.

I realized Candra's wisdom too late.

The issue was temporarily resolved by keeping the Guilds separate. The Council would remain intact, acting on behalf of the lower members. I would act as ambassador and matriarch for both Guilds, electing my second-in-commands from each party. Naturally, my choice for Assassin-second was Marie. She inherited the position from her uncle Gris-Gris, and was devoted to my family and the Guild. Choosing a Thief-second was more difficult. The Councils wanted Franco. Although I was reluctant to give them this first victory, I had to admit that ousting him would cause political discord.

However, he declined.

"I feel that I no longer have a place among you," Franco said at the meeting. While I had hardly expected him to praise my offer, I was _not_ prepared for his resignation. He would still be close to the crown. Wasn't that what he wanted?

I had to choose a replacement - and fast - before the Guilds started accusing me of favoritism. The Thieves Council had many candidates: Jean-Luc, Tante Mercy, Claude Potier, and my father's cousin Theo Marceaux.

"What about your father?" Momma asked me one night at tea-time. She sounded offended that he wasn't even a consideration.

"I was wondering when you'd bring him up," I said with a smirk.

My mother was as loyal as a hunting dog.

Against regulations, I was discussing the election with Momma, Rogue and outsider Mystique at our nightly get-togethers. My parents didn't have an official recognition within the Guilds, but they still held enormous sway.

"He may be an X-Man now," Momma said, "But he's always been a T'ief at heart."

"I think he enjoys his freedom too much," I told her. "I'm thinking about Theo… He _is_ third in line."

"Theo's an idiot," Momma snapped, "Your papa was _second_. It's his inheritance as much as it was Marie's."

"The Council didn't elect him. I can't go against them so openly. Not so soon."

"This is de _perfect_ time t' challenge dem. Show dem you're not a puppet."

I sighed and retreated to my thoughts. After a moment, I asked Momma to speak with Papa about it, and find out how he felt. I wasn't about to go to war without his support. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mystique hide a smile behind her tea cup. What was _she_ hiding?

Being matriarch wasn't all plots, conspiracies and power struggles. There were enormous benefits, too. Coronation gifts poured in from every member. Leaders from as far away as Tokyo, New Delhi and Milan sent jewelry, deeds, and boxes full of lavish clothes. I surprised everyone, including myself, by declining these luxuries. Returning them would have been rude, so I distributed the wealth among my Guilds.

However, I kept the gifts my family gave me. Tante Mercy gave me the Thieves Histories. The volumes were bequeathed to her by my late Oncle Henri, and now they were mine. The Histories existed in copies, but I had the priceless originals. The most generous gift came from Jean-Luc, who gave me his ancestral home. The property was not the most expensive donation, but I know what it meant to him. It was his way of passing the crown. Even the dead had presents. The Old Man bequeathed a key to me, and a safety deposit box that I was to open after my eighteenth birthday. Momma said she had no idea what it could be.

In late October, we held a grand party. All the heads of Thieves and Assassins attended: eighteen American leaders and an additional twenty-seven from overseas, plus their spouses and second-in-commands. They had assessments to make, treaties to offer, favors to ask, and inevitably - negotiations to forge.

In my own humble opinion, the greetings went off perfectly. I spoke enough languages to befriend most of the leaders. Where I was ignorant, my parents stepped in. Between the three of us, we spoke every language in attendance. I was sweet and charming and unassuming: the universal expectation of a young woman. A few patriarchs were bold enough to approach my father personally. At first, I hardly noticed. I was too busy entertaining, learning and enchanting. But eventually, I realized these men were putting in bids for me. The knowledge came to me unbidden. These men wanted to begin marriage negotiations!

My blood boiled.

How _dare_ they discuss my future! How _dare_ Papa entertain the very _notion!_

Aware of my visible rage, I excused myself and went outside to cool off. Sitting in the dark by the bayou, I wept with anger. I shook with repressed words. I would never – _never_ – love anyone but Tess. I would _never_ take a man's name or bear his children. I only wanted to share those things with her. And if it meant war or banishment or damnation, then that was the price I'd pay.

Mystique and Rogue closed up the house in Poughkeepsie, and moved our family to New Orleans. Momma, Papa and I were consumed with Guild responsibilities. The stress on our family was a visible strain, so Momma mandated down-time and dates. In addition to Wednesday nights with me, Papa had to spend Saturday nights with Rogue, and Sunday nights with the whole family. Monday was his day of rest. I would take the twins on Saturday nights, and spend Sundays with the family. My down-time would be Friday. Momma and Rogue took their down-time on Tuesdays. We girls didn't have to make time for each other. We all ready had a nightly tea-time, and that sufficed.

I was surprised at how well the new schedule worked. After a few free nights, Rogue's demeanor completely changed. My stepmother even decided to begin a new career as a mechanic.

I was horrified. The family thought this job was too far below her. It was degrading for her to dress in jeans to do manual labor in soil and soot. It was unbecoming for her to be surrounded by foul-mouthed men every day. It was ridiculous for someone with her skills and looks and experience to dedicate herself to an occupation with high-school drop-outs and military rejects!

But she was happy.

Everything we hated about the situation was everything she loved. So we all had to swallow our pride and support her decision, although the pill burned all the way down.

Because of my schedule, I had to be homeschooled. The lessons came from Xavier Academy, but I had an independent tutor. Mr. Matthews was a mutant working on his bachelor's degree in chemistry. He was generous and clever, and before long, he had me enrolled in piano lessons at the River Ridge School of Music.

Being active in school gave me an escape. Still, I missed New York. Talking to Tess through phone calls and letters wasn't enough. Seeing her at the holidays wasn't enough. I missed her like air.

On Jean-Luc's last night in the States, my mother threw a banquet for just the family. I was suppose to help her, but decided to sit in my room and sulk instead. Papa stepped in, peeling potatoes and tenderizing the meat. He even joked about Momma's not-so-secret resentment towards my grandfather to raise her spirits.

"When Mystique leaves," Momma countered, "You'll be just as glad. You'll probably t'row _two_ parties."

"You kiddin'? I'll lead de damn _parade_!"

I showed up in time to set the table. In addition to my parents and paternal grandparents, I would also be dining with Mystique. I really missed talking with people my own age…

"Have a good nap?" Momma asked.

I didn't answer.

"_Chere_, do me a favor and set out de nice china."

I looked at her for a long time. "Momma, I know you're glad Jean-Luc's leavin', but it's just _Jean-Luc_ comin' over for dinner. He doesn't _qualify_ for nice china."

"Humor your mother, will you?"

I rolled my eyes but complied.

A few minutes later, the twins were put down for the night, and the rest of us took our places at the dinner table. Momma really had out done herself, and I felt a little guilty for not helping. She'd made biscuits, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, collard greens and a chocolate cake all from scratch. The meat was a roast so tender that it almost melted. She even took the time to coordinate the wine, although I couldn't drink. Everyone told her again and again how wonderful dinner was.

"If I'd known you could cook like dis," said Jean-Luc, "I would've never let you divorce my son."

We all had a chuckle: even Rogue, thank goodness.

"Luc, if I ever make a meal like dis for you, it's laced wit' arsenic," Momma said. "Dis meal is for _me_. Now dat you're all fat an' happy, I have an announcement. I'm havin' a baby."

The table collectively dropped silverware, and Papa chocked loudly.

"_Mon Dieu_, Belle! Not while I'm _drinkin'_!"

Rogue patted his back and asked, "Why didn't you tell us you were seeing someone?"

"It was an immaculate conception," Momma answered.

"Oh, _Jesu_!" Papa laughed, "I t'ought you were _serious_!"

"I am, LeBeau."

I decided to save Papa any further embarrassment. "But… You said you _couldn't_ get pregnant."

"Dat's what de doctors told me, but I don't put much faith in dem. I'd been tryin' t' have a baby for a while, and dey didn't t'ink I could do it. Apparently, I've still got some life left in me after all!"

I was stunned. This _had_ to be a joke!

"We've got babies falling from the damn sky," Mystique said coolly.

"S-seriously?" I croaked.

"_Jesu Christos!_ Why is dis so surprising?"

"Because you haven't had a date in three years!" Jean-Luc finally spoke. "You put de horse b'fore de cart, _chere_."

She covered my eyes and shot him a vulgar gesture.

"_Oui!_" Papa found his voice again. "Who you been makin' babies wit'?"

"Dat ain't important. Dis baby only got one parent. I've got de papers t' prove it. She might not have de usual conception, but she's still gonna have a family dat loves her."

My head spun. I saw a vision of Bishop: the same vision I'd had last year on the rooftop in New York. He turned to me and smiled. I was suddenly sick with understanding. I got up from the table and walked to the doorway. I was sure my vision was plainly written on my face, and my family would look into my eyes and know. Behind me, there was silence.

Momma wrapped her arms around me. "I know what you're thinkin'," she said quietly, "Your parents finally got dere shit t'gether, and now dey're makin' a new life for demselves. Ain't nobody gonna replace you, _chere_. T'ings change, but you'll always be _ma tite fille_."

I returned her embrace, feeling very much like her little girl. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. I had been challenging my parents on every level, and even anticipating arguments. I pretended like I didn't need them, but all I really wanted was some security. I was sure they would betray me in some unforgiveable way, and had tried to sever emotional ties to them. But now, in my mother's arms, all I wanted was to _cling_ to them.

"Momma, you won't let Papa sell me, will you?"

"_Quoi?_" Papa snapped from behind us. "What de hell you talkin' 'bout? _Sell you_?"

"At my coronation!" I told Momma, "Everyone was turnin' in bids for me!"

My parents looked at each other, and Papa calmly explained: "Marriage negotiations."

"Oh, honey!" Momma laughed and hugged me. "Don't you ever worry yourself about _men_ and dere plans! We _femmes_ pull all de strings."

I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed again. I _knew_ she would set things right.

"Besides," she continued. "Marriage for you is at least a decade away."

My stomach dropped.

"More like _two_," Papa added.

"See!" She led me back to the table. "Plenty of time t' be young and finish college and see de world b'fore you settle down. You're a very lucky girl. Soon as I was legal, my papa was pushin' me down de aisle."

"You're not _listening_ to me!" I shouted, near hysterics. If I screamed loud enough, maybe I could wake myself from this nightmare. "I don't _want_ t' marry some stranger! My God, what _century_ are you people living in? I oughta be able t' marry who I want, like a normal person!"

"Did you t'ink it was all parties and glamour?" Papa asked, "It's a gilded cage, _mon cherie_. But don't get yourself so worked up. He won't be a _stranger_. And he ain't gonna be some pervert twice your age, either. Your happiness is always my priority."

I dug my heels in, refusing to return to my chair.

How _could_ they?

Jean-Luc was frantically whispered to his wife in French. I didn't notice if he was translating or apologizing.

I _wouldn't_ cry. _I_ wouldn't cry. I wouldn't _cry_.

"I know you've got your heart set already," said Momma softly, "No one's tellin' you t' waste your youth waitin' on a husband. T'ings change, _petite_. I know you can't imagine it now, but de day will come when you'll love someone else."

My throat constricted. My knees locked. I fainted dead away.

_I dreamt my parents were in the little meeting room. Jean-Luc stood nonchalantly leaned against the wall while my parents paced and chewed their nails._

"_Who were you talkin' about?" Papa asked. "Who's she got her heart set on?"_

"_Oh, LeBeau, you are so __**dense**__! Anyways, it doesn't matter. She's gonna marry some nice billionaire and have babies wit' him. A girl her age can't t'ink wit' her __**head**__. And we can't gamble de business on her heart."_

"_She's stubborn," Papa said, almost to himself. "Forcin' her might make t'ings worse."_

_My parents looked at each other for a long time, waiting on an answer. Finally, Papa asked Jean-Luc if he had any suggestions._

"_Oui," he smiled, "You should've had a son. Boys don't care about t'ings like dis."_

"_T'anks, Pop. T'anks."_

**Author's Notes: **Just a few things I'd like to mention here. One, you may or may not have noticed that Honor's accent is diminishing a little. That's intentional. Secondly, for those of you who aren't Southerners and don't know elderly-speech, "the baby blues" is now called post-partum depression.


	3. Breathing Bodies

**The Guild Massacre**

**Chapter Three: Breathing Bodies**

_Beaumont, Texas_

A man leapt from a moving car. The landing stung, and tore away at his already bad leg. The old limp came courteous of another deal he couldn't follow through on… If he lived to see the weekend, he'd be lucky to greet it with both legs. He quickly hobbled down the dark street. The car braked and reversed after him. He cut into an alley, where the vehicle couldn't follow. The car blocked his only exit, and two men in black suits closed in. Trapped and injured, the man didn't stand a chance.

"Please!" he begged.

He saw the flash of a blade. No guns allowed in the city. Besides, a gun would be too quick, and attract too much attention.

"No! Please! I – I can-"

"We ain't de debt collectors, Franco," one shadowy man said.

"We're de hammers."

It was Thanksgiving, and despite Momma's baby belly, she'd insisted on doing a big dinner. I discovered she handled pregnancy with much more grace and resolve than Rogue (Momma said that was because of their age difference), but old habits die hard. I was accustomed to pampering and sheltering a woman with child, so that's how I handled Momma. While she and Marie were preparing the food, I was in the little parlor with my father.

"I'm gonna have t' deliver some bad news t' the Guild, and I wanna know what you think." I confided in him.

"Dis is a trick, _non_?"

"It's really – _really_ – bad, Papa. Some people already know… I wanna cut it off at de head, though."

"Franco?" he asked with confidence.

For not being an official Guild member, Papa sure knew a lot about our comings and goings. I told myself that Momma kept him informed, and the rest of them wouldn't blab to every stranger they knew. This was a good time to test that theory, so I asked him: "What've you heard?"

"Gamblin' debts wit' de Yakuza. Tried t' sweet talk his way out, and ended up diggin' his own grave."

That wasn't so bad – if that was all he knew. I started to feel arrogant in my security measures, but the Good Lord reminded me better.

"I heard his Japanese is so bad, he called de boss a monkey and den made a move on his daughter, t'inkin' she was de help!" He laughed so hard that he shook, and added: "_Amateur!_"

Since my father was no friend of Franco, he could only have gained this information one way.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me you had ties t' the Yakuza?"

"Look, _catin_," he said, taking my hand. "All dey want is dere money back. De Guild ain't gonna like it, but dey'll do it t' keep de peace."

"I know. That's not de problem."

Now he was interested. "Dere's more?"

"Papa," I nearly whispered, "He was takin' out contracts in de Guild's name _after_ he'd stepped down as patriarch. He's already blown all the money. I think he was usin' it t' pay off his debts, but…"

There was a light in his eyes, but his voice remained calm. "How bad is it?"

"I can make good on _some_ of them, but a few I've had to cancel. That's costly. And of course some of them-"

"Are irrevocable."

I nodded and then sighed, aware that we were no longer alone. Mystique had come to ask something of my father, but thought she could eavesdrop on us for a time. She didn't have any reason to spy, but she just couldn't help herself.

"Come in," I called to the door.

She opened the door but remained in the doorway. With a knowing smirk, she said: "My daughter needs you, LeBeau."

"Can it wait?" he asked shortly.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she said, closing the door.

"Damn dat woman."

From the look in his eyes, I knew our conversation was over. He might as well have been a million miles and years away. Blinded to everything but Rogue, he stood and left the room. He never told me what to do about the contracts I could neither fulfill nor cancel. I should've asked my mother first, I knew that. But I didn't want to upset her and endanger the baby. After this mess was sorted, Franco would be killed. He'd dishonored the Guild and there was no forgiveness for that. Momma and Franco were once lovers, and it might break her heart to learn of his death sentence.

Alone with my problems, I put my head in my hands and cried.

The twins grew into curious, energetic little babies. Ollie and Becca did everything together: bathed together, ate together, and napped together. I grew to understand the sibling-bond my mother wanted for me. Hearing them screaming in the middle of the night wasn't my favorite time, but it was worth the trouble to watch them when they finally fell back to sleep. Gradually, they found their place in the family. We learned their cries and they learned our schedule. Now that they were _slightly_ less helpless, Rogue's spirits lifted. She really loved her life now. When her babies cried, she smiled and soothed them. When she came home from work, she happily talked about her day. When Papa made a smart remark, she had one ready for him. At least a small part of her happiness must've been contributed to Theo taking over Papa's place in the Guild.

Once I learned to turn to Marie and Theo for advice, I found their input refreshing and encouraging. I didn't feel guilty for burdening them with _my_ issues. Their advice was closer to what the _Guild_ expected and wanted, and they could even offer me advice on my parents: something no one else in the whole city would dare to do. Together, the three of us petitioned other Guilds to help us fulfill our contracts made by Franco. It was humiliating to have to beg so early into my reign, and each sting was a reminder of his arrogance. I'd fix him!

Momma's belly grew to massive portions. Pregnancy turned out to be a positive experience for her, although she was limited now. The family and the Guilds picked up where she couldn't. Oddly, I filled the roll a father might. I helped put the crib together and went to Lamaze classes with her. When she was overwhelmed, I comforted her. When she hurt, I soothed her. I even helped pick the name.

"I never have been partial to girl names…" Momma lamented. Her subjective pronoun months earlier proved correct: her baby was a girl. "But I do like 'H' names."

"As long as it's not something dull like 'Heather'," I said.

We girls were enjoying out nightly ritual. Rogue returned Momma's earlier kindness by rubbing her feet. My mother sort of resembled a beached whale.

"Or 'Haley'," Rogue added, "My last class had _three_ Haleys."

"_Non_?" Momma said, "I t'ink dat's a pretty name."

"The name means hero," said Mystique. "Wouldn't that be rather _haughty_?"

She was much more comfortable in New Orleans than I'd ever seen her in New York. Rogue still insisted the children not be left alone with her, but Momma had started delegating responsibilities to her. For my mother, that was a sign of trust.

"Hero…" I worked the name over in my head. "It's rather Shakespearian!"

"Is it?" Momma asked.

"And it's not really a _girl's_ name," I added.

Momma rubbed her belly and asked my baby sister: "Are you a hero, my pet?"

During Yule time festivities, my whole family spent two weeks in New York for the Summers-Frost wedding. I can sum the event up in three words: _Emma wore white._ The hypocrisy didn't stop there! My family put on smiles and gushed for the couple's newfound happiness, but behind closed doors, the gossip raged. How _dare_ that tramp wear white? And this was Mr. Summers' _third_ wedding! How _dare_ he have a huge shindig? In the South, these things _meant_ something!

The only person who _didn't_ play along was Rachel. Her absence was duly noted and reflected in Mr. Summers' face. At the reception, Nate told me she had cut all ties with her alternate-reality father. She sent him a long good-bye letter, and then took a mission in outer space. No one knew if she'd ever be seen again.

I tried to comfort him with a hug, but he stood stiffly with his arms at his side. "I'm so sorry, Nate! I've been a terrible friend! Always too wrapped up in my own problems."

"We miss you, 'On," Uri said with a sad smile.

I don't think Uri spoke for Nate.

Since most of the students attended, I assumed the staff was invited, too. But some teachers were noticeably absent: Tante Ro, Logan and Ms. Pryde among them. Were they bitter, too? Or away on work?

Several politicians and celebrities stayed for the reception. I did notice an additional photographer who spent time speaking with the guests as well as snapping pictures. I later found out the woman worked for an international magazine company, and made a point to avoid her. With so much attention, the party was probably the most lavish I'd ever attend. No expense was spared. The table linens were silk, the china was authentic; and the diamond studs in the centerpieces were _real_ diamonds. We dined on lobster, caviar and Dom Perignon. The cake was an enormous white monstrosity covered in little white rose buds and diamonds. There was a live band, several ice sculptures, and an open bar.

For once, I was grateful for my over-bearing mother. She made me dress up in heels, stockings, a winter dress with a plunging neck-line, and jewelry. I looked like a total _girl_, and hated it. Turned out, _everyone_ was dressed to the nine. Nate, as the best man, had a tux. Ethan found a sharp, charcoal suit. Everyone knew Renegade didn't have anyone to dress him, but someone had lent him a suit that he was terribly uncomfortable with.

"Mon, you white people drop some _dough_," he said, struggling out of his jacket.

"This isn't a typical wedding," I told him, "This is insanity!"

"I expect the next wedding this nice will be yours," Tess told me. She was easily the best looking person in the room. Her hair was pulled up with the front loose and lightly curled. As usual, her lips were painted black and her face white, but the little facial scars still showed. Her dress was a form-fitting black velvet gown that covered her arms and reached the floor. The sides were split to the hip, and I wasn't the only one hoping to catch a peak.

All evening long, she'd had this strange, melancholy smile. And now this "wedding" comment…

Of course, I'd sobbingly told her about my parents' intentions to marry me off.

"You Americans are so bizarre," she responded. "Your parents are just looking out for you. If my parents were still alive, they'd be doing the same thing. I think it'd be a big relief not to worry about finding a suitable partner."

"I already _have_ a partner!" I cried.

"You're a good daughter, and you'll make someone a good wife, too."

We hadn't discussed it since.

In my heart, I knew I couldn't give my parents this victory. I _couldn't_. They could pressure me all they liked, but I had already begun to strip them of their power. My Thief-second position went to Theo. Papa was still a Thief and Momma was still an Assassin, but their most _powerful_ roles in the Guild were as my parents. No one could ever remove that power from them, but by keeping them uninformed and by seeking the council of _The Council_, their power had little influence. The Council was pleased with the way Theo, Marie and I reigned, and voted in my favor on important decisions. I sent an envoy to the New York Thieves patriarch, settled a dispute in Baton Rouge, and dealt with that deadbeat Franco. Thanks to him, the Guild was on bad terms with a New Orleans judge and the super-power, The Hand. We were on tense terms with the Yakuza and the Beaumont Thieves outpost, which was more or less the entire Daumier clan. Clan Daumier also had representatives on the Council, which complicated matters at home. The dust was beginning to settle now, but it would be years before all the damage was cleared away.

I settled all these matters _without_ my parent's advice.

My biggest act of rebellion, though, was my absence from family appointments. I knew I had responsibilities to my mother, father, and siblings, but I refused to see them. At first, my parents bought my excuses – I was tired, busy, overworked or ill. But things finally came to a head when I locked myself in my room, and told the guards I was _not_ to be disturbed.

I could hear Momma in the hallway yelling at Marie. "Dat's my _child_, Marie! Get de hell outta my way!"

"I'm sorry, Belle, I can't let you in."

Meanwhile, Papa crept in through the window. He pleaded, reasoned and threatened. I would not be moved. He stopped just short of striking me and left through the door, knocking Marie to the floor.

If this was how things had to be in order for me to have Tess, then I would accept it. I wouldn't surrender for the sake of _peace_. But we'd come to New York to play _normal_, so that's what I'd do.

Returning to the matters at hand, I leaned over and asked Tess in my sweetest voice, "Care t' dance?"

"I was beginning to think you'd rather not."

The atmosphere of the wedding had toned down from the initial energetic party. The music was slow, the lights dim and blue. Our heels clicking over the marble floor were lost in the mass. Our bodies seemed to recede into the group. Our inhibitions lowered. Our minds were caught in the haze of spiked punch and reunion ecstasy.

_All the fear has left me now  
I'm not frightened anymore  
It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh  
It's my mouth that pushes out this breath_

We tentatively took each other's hands. I slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close. I could only hope my hands weren't sweating excessively. I was so nervous. After a moment, she sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. Her hair smelled like honeysuckles. The scent carried serenity through my body. I was home.__

Companion to our demons  
They will dance, and we will play  
With chairs, candles, and cloth  
Making darkness in the day  
It will be easy to look in or out  
Upstream or down without a thought

Our feet moved easily around each other. I couldn't feel the floor anymore. I didn't notice the eyes on us. We were alone in the universe. It was just me and her, the way we were meant to be.

"Uhm… 'On?" She lifted her head.

I opened my eyes and noticed why I didn't feel the floor. We were levitating two feet in the air. I briefly worried that noticing our predicament would undo the magic. I thought we would plummet like Wiley Coyote. When we didn't fall, I giggled and pulled her close again.

_And if I shed a tear I won't cage it  
I won't fear love  
And if I feel a rage I won't deny it  
I won't fear love  
I won't fear love  
I won't fear love..._

After dinner, it was time for speeches. Nate and Mr. Summers' brother, Alex, both wished them well. No one mentioned Ms. Grey or the family division incurred by this union. And once I looked more carefully, Ms. Frost didn't have too many family members in attendance, either. I think her only friend in the world was Mr. Summers.

Things concluded with the usual tossing of the bouquet. I was a little surprised by Ms. Frost's preference for tradition, especially since this tradition was so _degrading_. Why should single women _wish_ away their youth for a husband? I was particularly loathed to participate since it was a step away from Tess and everything I was trying to do for her. For _us_. Momma hated the idea of another marriage, and since we had no desire to rush down the aisle, we made ourselves scarce. We stepped into the hall and slipped off our shoes.

"Hold dis, will you?" Momma handed me her handbag. "I gotta pee… _again_."

I watched her waddle quickly into the nearby women's restroom, and slowly paced the hall. The farthest end was dark and empty, so naturally, I was drawn into its seclusion. Holding my breath and walking silently, I strained to detect signs of life. The last thing I wanted to do was catch two lovers in the act. At first, I thought I was alone, but then I _did_ hear something.

"Ah'm sorry Ah couldn't call earlier…"

_Rogue?_

I willed my heart to stop pounding in my ears and crept up to the dark room. She'd left the door ajar, thinking no one would see her, and if anyone did, she'd only look odd with the door shut. I placed myself along the doorframe and strained to hear.

"Oh, they're adorable," she said, keeping her voice low. "Ah wish you could see them in their little outfits! Ah found these shoes that look like real shoes, but they feel more like socks. That way, they wouldn't keep pullin' them off." She was silent for a moment, and then she laughed. _I knew that laugh!_ It was the laugh of a woman who's smitten by a man's charm. Papa's a pro at getting that laugh.

So _that_ was the reason for her mood change!

_Mystique hadn't given up trying to get Rogue away from my father. She hadn't even changed tactics, not really. She wasn't trying to seduce him anymore, but she was doing a very good job of making Rogue feel isolated. Very subtly, she pushed Papa's attention to the Guild and Momma and I. Of course, she didn't want him __**too**__ involved in the Guild, or he'd be powerful enough to keep Rogue's children when she left him. She'd never leave her children behind. __**Never**__. Very subtly, she pushed Rogue back into the world. She was the __**only**__ one who encouraged Rogue in her lackluster career, but if my stepmother became too ambitious too soon, the family would be disrupted and we might look into her business. It was her first baby step outside the house that had led her to Augustus. He was Mystique's associate, but Rogue didn't know that yet. She thought he was just a customer she'd helped at work. He made her feel beautiful and clever, so she agreed to have coffee with him. When he asked to kiss her, she turned him down, but they were still talking._

My fists were clenched so hard that my hands hurt. I wanted to punch her. I wanted to cry. I wanted to take her children and force her out. I wanted to forgive her.

"Look, sugah, Ah gotta go. Yeah, Ah need to get back to the weddin'. Oh," she laughed again, "It's a circus! Yeah… You, too."

When she turned towards the door, I was standing in her way. She let out a startled gasp, tried to cover her guilt, and then looked ashamed.

"Honor…"

"How _could_ you?" I said it, but that was not what I wanted to say. I wanted to hurt and humiliate and frighten and betray her the way she had my family. But I couldn't do that without hurting my father and the twins. I couldn't do that, but she could. _How?_

"It's not what you think-" she started.

"You've got everyone fooled int' thinkin' you're just some sweet girl from Mississippi," I said. "Always findin' yourself in the wrong crowd, but all you really want is t' raise your babies in peace. I see de truth now. You're just as cold and self-serving and _wicked_ as your mother!"

"Ah know you're upset, but this ain't the time for name callin'."

"Good t'ing you ain't _my_ mother! _You_ probably woulda took one _look_ at m' _eyes_ and dumped _me_ in a ditch, too!"

She slapped me, but I've been slapped before. I was too pissed to care.

"You're the worst sort of liar!" I ranted at her. "You don't even _know_ you're lying! Everything about you is deceitful! I can't believe I ever _loved_ you!"

She pulled me into a hug, and I could feel her heart pounding against my chest. Her heart had dreamed and carried and birthed my little brother and sister. Her heart had lured my father and found him wanting. I hated her for all she was, but for all she'd done… I couldn't help but forgive her. I wouldn't return her embrace, but I didn't reject it either. She continued to hold me and said: "Whatever happens between me and Remy won't change how Ah feel about you. Ah love you like my own, eyes and all. And Ah know if you didn't love me, ya wouldn't be so hurt right now. Ah'm sorry, sugah. It's over."

I put my arms around her. When I pulled away, I took her cell phone, charged it, and let it detonate in the dark room. _Now_ it was over. There was a silent understanding between us that Papa could never find out about this. I dried my eyes and recomposed myself. By the time we rejoined the party, I looked fine. Her hand print on my cheek had even lifted.

"Where ya'll been?" Papa asked, pushing his way past two of the Guthrie sisters. He'd been left with Ollie and Becca, but of course, there were always students willing to help him carry the burden. "Frosty de Great wants us outta here and I'm inclined t' agree."

We all stood outside in the cold: the twins were so bundled up that they looked like little stars. I saw the newlyweds again as they made their exit. Normally, people toss rice as the couple leaves as an omen of fertility. This time, it began to snow. Clean, white winter fluff coated the world, making everything clean and new. It was magical. As the couple disappeared into their Rolls-Royce, Papa shouted: "Make a _man_ out of him, Em!"

I looked around for Tante Ro (thinking maybe this was her way of blessing the union), but she was nowhere in sight.

My dance was the topic of discussion the entire flight home. I hadn't intended to be the center of attention, but that's exactly what happened.

"_Dat's_ who she had her heart set on? And here I was: worried about dat _Fong_ boy!" Papa griped while comforting Becca. Poor baby's ears were popping, and she couldn't be soothed.

"_Mais_, for a man who knows so much about women," said Momma, "you know nothin' about your own daughter."

"Did _you_ know about dis?" He demanded of Rogue. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you _please_ not talk about me like I'm not here?" I wailed.

Once we landed, it was back to business as usual.

One of our newer Thieves got arrested while I was away, and we all worried about him. Some suggested I send an Assassin to ensure his silence. However, his disappearance or death would revive grudges. There was also an embezzlement issue in our outpost in Thibodaux. The treasurer had been allowed to run wild for years, and now his superiors weren't certain how to proceed. I could guarantee someone was getting blackmailed for this to have continued for so long.

But I wasn't the only one with decisions to make.

After the wedding ceremony, Mr. Summers had asked Papa to consider returning to the team. Mr. Summers and Ms. Frost would be gone for a month on their honeymoon, and Tante Ro was spending a lot of time in Africa now. She said she felt her actions mattered more there. In addition to Professor Xavier's retirement and Papa and Rogue raising a family in New Orleans, the school was falling apart. New staff members were brought in, but there were no _replacing_ senior members.

It took about a week of arguments and tears before Momma and I accepted the inevitable: Papa was going back to New York without us.

_Three months later_

Momma asked me to call Tante Mattie around supper time. She had already decided she would deliver at home, the natural way. I had gone to the classes with her, and even took the liberty of reading a few books on the subject. I _thought_ I would be prepared. When Rogue voiced concerns about safety, Momma snapped: "Dos idiot doctors told me I'd never get pregnant! And you want me t' go t' dem? Dey prob'ly tell me I ain't havin' no baby! You'd _have_ t' be loopy t' t'ink _dey_ can help you!"

Tante Mattie, Marie and I spent all night with Momma. I know she was in pain, but she never complained or cried. At first, she paced for a while. We kept the water hot to soothe her contractions, and the breathing exercises helped her nerves. As the labor progressed, she began pushing without direction. Finally, she was confined to the bed, and the steaming water was placed between her legs. I sat behind her for support. Every muscle in her body was as hard as it could be, and a thin layer of sweat covered her skin. She seemed unaware of my presence: completely absorbed in her task.

For nearly an hour, I supported her back with my body while she pushed and then rested. Pushed and rested. Pushed and rested. Pushed and rested. For an _hour_. I wanted to do something _helpful_, but I couldn't do anything other than sit behind her and hold her. Her body was so strong and determined that I could add nothing to it. And she was so silent in her labors that we filled it with sighs and whispers.

Tante Mattie waited at the end of the bed, encouraging Momma with progress reports.

"Dis one ain't as impatient as de first. Better dat way… I see de head, Bella. Won't be long now… Dat's it, _chille_, worst of it be over… Now, one last push. Give it all you got."

Momma only screamed once: with the final push.

And then I saw my baby sister, covered in goo and screaming wildly. She had Momma's yellow hair and violet eyes, and our fighting spirit. Her little limbs kicked and punched vigorously. I could almost count her little ribs as she inhaled to cry out with passion.

"She's strong," Marie cooed as Hero settled into Momma's arms. "And she's got a lot to say. Girl's a born Assassin."

The four of us cried then.

Hero Marius Boudreaux. Six pounds, seven ounces. Twenty-one inches.

By the time my father and Rogue flew down to meet my baby sister, she was already two weeks old. She was born white, but her skin had slowly darkened. Her _café au lait_ complexion matched Marie, who took great pride in claiming the child as her own. Truth be told, we were all proud of our newest Assassin, and gifts poured in from every corner of the city. The sense of unity was one of the things I loved about the Guild.

"Dis a beautiful baby, Belle," Papa said with his characteristic lopsided grin, "You _sure_ dis ain't my youngin'?"

Momma rolled her eyes at him.

Unfortunately, Papa and Rogue could only stay for the week of Spring break. Because of Guild troubles, I didn't get to socialize too much, but I did find time to ask Papa for a favor.

"D'you t'ink y' could take Momma back t' New York wit' you?"

"You in trouble, _petite_?" He frowned.

"No, nothin' like that," I sold my best lie. "It's just that t'ings are gonna end badly for Daumier, and I don't want Momma around. And you know, given his _history_ with her, she'd be an easy target for _negotiators_. I can't be everywhere at once, and I'd like to not have to worry about her and Hero. Just ask her to come back with you. She really helped you and Rogue out with the twins. De _least_ you could do is return the favor."

"If you worried, y' should come wit' us."

"It's nothing I can't handle."

"I can help. So can your Momma. You don't have t' do dis alone."

"It's nothing I can't handle," I repeated firmly. "You don't have t' worry, Papa. I've got Marie and Theo t' look out for me."

Much to my surprise, Momma agreed to return to New York. She knew it was my idea, but complied out of resentment. She thought I was trying to push her away. That was fine: as long as she was safe. And secretly, she also wanted Bishop to meet Hero. He had no rights, but Momma was very proud of her new baby. She hoped he would be proud, too. He would observe the child, but not hold her. He didn't trust himself with an infant. Compliments weren't really his specialty, either. But he would watch her sleep sometimes, and for Momma, that was enough.

Meanwhile, my problem with Franco escalated into a problem with the Thieves. They were not _all_ loyal to Jean-Luc's reign, and some of them resented his iron grip on the Guild. These rebels wanted to replace Theo with Franco. Of course, this was impossible, but many of Franc's powerful collectors pressured me in that direction, too. If he returned to our fold, we would _all_ be indebted to them.

Not surprisingly, Franco led the rebellion himself. He "championed" democracy among the Guilds, and just like a politician, promised fewer tithes and more profit. Despite having a brother on the Council, he didn't gain much support… _At first_. But as our privileges diminished due to his debts, malcontent took hold. External pressure led to internal fighting. It started on the streets – clans scrabbling over territory. Before long, it was in the Council room with the highest clans quarreling amongst themselves.

I worried for my safety.

Some of the smarter Thieves and Assassins began sending their children away. Many of the members came to my house for protection. I was too proud to tell them that they were running in the wrong direction. Spies had the phones bugged, and I was monitored constantly. My enemies would show up at all hours, uninvited and unannounced. They were trying to wear me down and force me to do something stupid. Finally, I was forced to act. I ousted six of the Council members who supported Franco's return. I told the collectors that if they confronted me again, they would be killed, and I meant it. I had Franco brought to me for one final discussion.

The Assassins threw him at my feet. He struggled before removing the black bag over his head, and then he crawled to me.

He was filth. Worse than scum. Unworthy of the Guilds.

"I'm sorry, Honor," he wept at my feet. "I'm sorry. Dey have my boys! I – I had no choice!"

The world was deadly silent and devoid of air for a second that spanned across eternity. Too late, I realized my mistake. I should have _helped_ Franco, not turned him away. The front door and all of the windows shattered at once. Dozens, maybe scores of masked assailants stormed the house. They moved quicker than the eye. Soon, bodies lined the floor with blood stains and screams threw up in echo. From my side room, I heard the pandemonium of an unprepared defense. The Thieves and Assassins who had come to me for protection would be slaughtered. I tried to leave my little room, but Marie bodily restrained me.

"You're too important to sacrifice yourself for dem!" She told me.

"That's my _family_!" I cried and struggled.

Questa, the other Assassin present, grabbed his weapon and charged into battle. Theo tried to follow, but Marie stopped him.

"No! Call New York! GO!"

He hesitated for a moment, but followed orders.

Marie, Franco and I were left alone in the room. The same room it all started in. How fitting that this would be the room it would end in. Half a dozen men dressed in black entered the only door, weapons ready. Marie dropped me and unsheathed her sword. I pooled my energy. Franco was unarmed until Marie tossed him a switch blade. We were the last of the Guild, and we were prepared to fight to the end. From behind the invaders, a figure moved towards the front. A man cut through the crowd, strolling easily between our savage attackers. He struggled with a human shield. My heart went cold.

Vaughn.

That little boy who used to bully me had grown up. He was taller now, with scalped arms and darker hair. He was accustomed to fights, and had obviously put up a good one before being taken prisoner. His neck leaked blood from the blade pressed to his jugular. While he lived, he would fight. His shirt was stained and his face pale, but his hazel eyes burned with defiance.

I still wore his gift around my waist like a chastity belt.

Franco dropped his weapon and was arrested.

"Don't be foolish, child queen," the kidnapper told me. "We just wanna talk."

"_Non_…" Vaughn grunted. "I'm not worth it."

"Let him go," I said, "and we'll talk."

Without another word, the man cut Vaughn's throat. Crimson blood shot from the wound like water from a busted fountain. My old schoolmate collapsed to the floor. Franco let out a heart-wrenching scream. I noticed him standing blindly while I fought like a wildcat. Marie slaughtered three with one blow. But there were so many of them, and we were so badly prepared. The house was soaked in blood. I could smell it on me. I would smell that blood for the rest of my wretched life. It was _my_ fault we were unprepared; _my_ fault we'd been cornered and overrun like this. The last time the Guilds were hurt this badly; we became enslaved to Candra for three centuries. As I began to lose hope, Theo reappeared and held them off for a little longer. They surged again, and we were conquered.

The Blackbird raced to New Orleans. Thanks to Shi'ar technology, the X-Men could be there in an hour, but that was still too late. Storm had barely returned home when she had to leave again. As she stepped off the jet just returned from Africa, Gambit rushed past her, shouting about a frantic message from his hometown. She joined him along with Rogue, Belle and Beast on their hurried rescue mission. Since another team was deployed, Emma was left to guard the students and Mystique was left with the LeBeau/Boudreaux infants.

The ancient Boudreaux property lay in ruins. The smoke was visible from a distance, but the fire had already burned itself out. The skeleton of the house remained: blackened and deformed. This fire was unnatural in its appetite and lifespan. It must've been controlled by a mutant. Bodies littered the lawn: some of them still breathing.

As the jet landed, Belle was already scanning the bodies for her daughter. No sign of Honor… or Marie… or Theo…

"_Sweet Goddess, no_!" Storm screamed.

As the only one brave enough to search the burned house for Honor, she was first to see her goddaughter's body. The four corners of the house stood firmly, blackened but sturdy. Somehow, the second story had burned completely away, but four oak pillars at the house's corners stood as tall as ever. Impaled on those timbers were the bodies of Honor, Marie, Theo and Franco. Marie was the only one who still struggled: her legs still kicking despite the excruciating pain. The others were limp.

Storm flew from the jet and pulled Honor's body off the spear. She moved the girl slowly, blood smearing the pole. The child stirred in her arms, the pain piercing through the veil and pulling her back to life. The wound pierced through her abdomen. If she were lucky enough to escape with her arteries and organs intact, she could have survived for days.

Gambit charged a card and cut down the spear just above Marie's exit wound. Hank quickly scaled the wooden pole and gently lifted her over his shoulder. Crimson blood gushed over his back and chest.

Storm left Honor with her mother, and returned to free Franco and Theo.

All four were in bad shape. Theo was completely unresponsive. Marie had the most fight, but she was losing blood fast. Franco had punctured a lung and was chocking on his own blood. Honor was protesting the most, which was a good sign, but her agony was driving her parents mad. Gambit refused to let Hank treat anyone before her. Not for the first time, the good doctor wished he could multiply himself.

Sirens came down the long, scenic driveway.

An ambulance.

"Thank the stars!" Hank sighed.

Dr. McCoy and the paramedics managed to stop Marie's bleeding, clear Franco's airways and pack Honor's wounds. Theo was already cold. He'd been pierced through the heart and lung, and the blood that poured from his wounds was cold, too. Marie and Franco left with the first ambulance. Honor left with her dead cousin on the second ambulance. More were on the way, and Dr. McCoy had already started tending to the breathing bodies on the lawn.

Honor grabbed her father's sleeve and moaned: "Vaughn…"

"What, _chere_?"

"Vaughn… He was here, too…"

Gambit watched Belle climb into the truck with their child, but he had to stay behind. It was his job.

He began a one-man search for Franco's younger son. Vaughn was still in the house, too. Turned out, he was unscathed in a burned-down house. His shirt was covered with blood, but the boy was unhurt. He appeared to be sleeping. Gambit gently grabbed his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. Vaughn coughed as if recently drowned in smoke. He sat up, spit up, and coughed some more.

"You all right?" Gambit asked impatiently.

The young man grabbed his neck and nodded. He appeared slightly disoriented, but there were people much worse off. Gambit left him to his confusion.


End file.
